Their Martyr
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: Ajora waits in the darkness of her jail cell as the hours count down to her execution, reflecting on the past and what it will really mean for her to die. It may be too late to change things, but did she ever really want to be their martyr? Spoilers.


Their Martyr

DISCLAIMER: Don't own FFT, so sorry. I just give the people in it big hugs. (smile)

It was dark… so dark. Even through all the long weeks of waiting, it was hard for her eyes to get used to it. And God, the cold. The rags that remained of her clothes couldn't protect her from the cold. Icy fingers crawled up her arms and legs, numbing them like her fingers and toes, as she huddled in the corner, shielded by the tangled curtains of her long hair, rocking back and forth.

The only warmth came from Virgo, hidden where she'd slipped it into her clothes. She thanked God that she'd managed to keep it safe from the examiners. Only the comfort it provided had let her keep her head through the horrible interrogations she'd been put through.

But all those were over now, and she was allowed to stay down here in this pitch-black earthen cell, stripped of every defense, alone with her memories… but not for much longer.

The palace had hunted them down mercilessly after some unknown man among her many followers had tipped them off to her whereabouts. One by one, her twelve most devout supporters had all been captured or killed, until she herself had been caught.

People had tried to free her. Oh, yes. But none had succeeded, and she doubted that any would. The fortress she'd been stashed in was one of the most well-defended in the kingdom. She knew that she couldn't expect the poor to sacrifice themselves almost aimlessly until some lucky fool got to her at last.

Besides, she'd started to have the dark suspicion that the only way she and her beliefs could be _truly _immortalized would be for her to martyr herself.

Ajora rested her chin on her knees and sighed, straining her eyes to watch the white wisp of her breath dissipating in the frigid air.

She was a young woman, but tall, and her androgynous features had allowed her to pass herself off as male once she'd bound her breasts flat with bandages. She'd known well that the only way to get people to take notice of what she said was to conceal her gender behind the thin pants and jackets worn by men. (Though she almost wished for her layers of petticoats again, just to protect her from the awful cold.) She'd been given half-rotten prisoners' wear for her stay here, and knowing that it was either wear the disgusting clothes or go naked, she'd complied. And sadly enough, she was glad of it—she would probably suffer the slow agony of freezing to death without the rags with which she shielded her body. Her hair was long and silvery-white, her eyes a murky hazel that sometimes seemed green, sometimes gray or brown or even blue, depending on the light and her mood. The youngest of four in the Glabados family, she'd felt the pull of the existence she called "God" since childhood. She'd prayed to it instead of the gods the rest of the citizens of Bervenia worshipped, and once she was old enough, she'd embarked on her journey to tell the rest of the world about the God she knew was real.

But now it seemed as though everything—all the spying, all the fighting and killing and horror—had been pointless. In the end, no one would believe her, and tomorrow the event capturing the notice of the populace in all its horror was the execution of a rebellious man named Ajora Glabados.

Even after all this time and everything she'd experienced, Ajora couldn't help but be almost childishly terrified of dying. She'd set out trying to make some kind of difference, but she hadn't wanted any kind of sacrifice involved. Not of her enemies, and certainly not of _herself. _In the deep despair of the prison cell, she felt as though God had turned His face from her for good.

She wanted to scream _What have I done wrong? _but knew she would do better to stay silent. The guards outside her cell would only laugh at her, and she couldn't take any more of that. All she could do was try to gather up the strength to face the noose that awaited her in scant hours with some semblance of dignity.

Ajora supposed she should really be thankful that the palace and its armies hadn't discovered the truth of her gender, or she would be getting raped to death instead of publicly hung, and she knew which of the two options would be the worse. And the scandal would be so huge—a mere _female, _making such a fool out of the monarchy and all its supposed power—that the message of her teachings would be lost entirely in the fray. And that was the one thing that she kept trying to hold on to throughout all the pain and disbelief: That if her death could really bring people to believe in God, then maybe it was all worth something after all.

Shuddering, Ajora cupped her hands in front of her face and blew into them, trying to stifle a cough. Wincing at the icy feel of her fingers, she reached down into her shirt and drew Virgo out, holding it tightly and feeling its warmth seep into her flesh. It and the other Holy Stones had been a gift from God. The legend of the Zodiac Braves had brought her together with so many kind people, from the aristocracy and the poorest of peasants. They had all helped her, made her feel as though her journey had been worthwhile, given her the disciples and the believers that had kept her message going. She prayed that her capture hadn't brought them to too much grief.

Would her brothers and her parents ever come to see where her body would finally rest? Or would they, bearing the name "Glabados", be persecuted and wiped out as well?

Maybe they would be able to escape. Maybe she wouldn't have doomed her blood with her belief in the deity that so many just wouldn't accept.

She would just be thrown into the mass graves of criminals in the airship junkyard anyway, wouldn't she? It wasn't like it mattered…

The heavy pounding of a mailed fist on the cell door startled Ajora out of her thoughts, and she hurriedly crammed Virgo back into its hiding place, standing on shaky legs.

"What?" she asked, her voice sharper than she would've imagined she could make it.

The door opened, letting streaming light assault her eyes. Biting back a squeal of pain, Ajora turned her head and shielded her face with both arms, squinting.

"You're dead in three hours, you little troublemaker. Any last requests? Food you want? You could still beg for the mercy of the royalty, you know. I bet they'd spare you if you licked their shoes enough." Harsh laughter. Ajora tightened her lips and slowly lowered her arms, glaring at the soldier who stood in the doorway despite the brightness of the light, blinking hard so as not to tear up.

"May God have mercy on your soul," she said bitterly.

"I'll take that as a 'no', then? Have it your way, Glabados. The next trip you're taking'll only entail a short drop and a sudden stop." The soldier snickered and slammed the door, leaving Ajora blinking in the dark again.

With a short wail, she dropped to the ground, burying her face in the skin of her thighs, rocking back and forth almost viciously as she cried.

"I don't want to die… why does it have to end like this? God, I don't want to die!" Turning her face up to the ceiling, she screamed for all she was worth. "Why have you forsaken me?"

Receiving no answer—not even an echo—she tucked her face into her knees again.

Her father, her mother, and her three older brothers would hear of her death and be devastated, perhaps even disappointed. She'd had such high hopes, such potential for greatness. The closest of her brothers had warned her that perhaps the world wasn't yet ready for the religion she wished to propose. She'd gone out anyway, and see where it had gotten her.

"I should have listened to you…"

Wiping away her tears, Ajora took slow, deep breaths. This breakdown would be her absolute last. When she walked out to the gallows, she wanted to appear calm, serene, even saintly. The perfect martyr. The one her people would need to walk into the future. She wanted people to remember her face, remember the one they had killed, and childish as it might be, she wished in the deepest and most frightened part of her heart that they would one day suffer for not taking a stand to save her life.

She was more terrified of dying than anyone but she herself would ever know. And that was the way that she wanted it to stay.

Within its confines, the Holy Stone engraved with Virgo began to give off a steady light…

---

Ajora Glabados was executed publicly, hung at the gallows and left in the noose for a full twelve hours after "his" death. Afterwards, the body was deposited into the mass graves within the junkyards of the palace.

Shortly afterwards, a strange "monster" appeared upon a certain island, causing such disasters that the island and everything on it sunk into the sea. But while the monster turned its sights towards the palace next for whatever inscrutable reasons, a young boy with a pure heart, carrying the family name of "Ruglia", defeated it.

These details were kept from the public. The people of Ivalice whispered to one another that the island must have been sunken by the powers of a wrathful God, seeking vengeance for the death of His prophet. The deaths of so many by an unknown cause became Ajora's miracle.

Ajora Glabados was canonized as a saint by the holy church, which took on her family name…

And the Holy Stones were scattered about the unified country, waiting placidly until the beings that were sealed within half of them could begin to wreak their destruction across the land again…

-owari-


End file.
